Harbinger Island

by Dorian Dawes

  "I'm afraid it's not the fabulous gated community the brochure says," he admitted. "At least, not any more. That experiment has failed, but there are still things of value there. Old memories that may be brought to light. Say you'll join me?"

  Kara looked at the brochure and then back at the man. She grimaced, but her curiosity nagged at her. Eileen was her mother, and their last encounter had ended violently. Her need for closure outweighed her misgivings.

  "If you try and screw with us, I swear to God I'll knock your teeth in," she said, curling her hand into a threatening fist.

  The man in the yellow tie laughed.

  * * *

  They opted to drive in Kara's car; something about the rusty yellow bug made Kara feel less than confident in its abilities. Veronika relented easily. They'd need a reliable vehicle in the likely event that this all turned out to be a trap.

  Yellow Coasts wasn't that far a drive from Kerryville. Close enough to still be technically within the city limits, but far enough out that the inhabitants wouldn't have to look on the dying hick-town. Veronika wasn't sure how to feel about that. She had her own disparaging opinions about the locals she'd met, but still the idea of rich people pushing themselves far enough out so they wouldn't have to look at them bothered her. She supposed she had more in common with the residents of the small town than she liked to admit.

  "You all right?" Kara asked. "You're quiet."

  "Just … thinking. Hey, I'm sorry for abandoning you like that. Back in Wakefield, that is. Looking back, I feel like kind of a bitch."

  Kara smirked. "You are."

  "Okay, ow. You don't have to agree with me."

  "But I like it," Kara said. "Didn't you hear? Bitches get shit done."

  Veronika rolled her eyes. "Then maybe I don't want to get things done. I just … I'm tired of feeling like shit about myself. I'm tired of coming across as this bitter mean asshole."

  "And who calls you that?" Kara said. "They sound like assholes and like their opinion don't mean nothin'."

  Veronika laughed quietly. "All right wise-ass," she said. "I mean it, though. I want to be kinder and have more patience, but people get under my skin and I just … I lose my shit."

  "So be kinder," Kara said with a shrug. "Be nicer. But who exactly gets under your skin?"

  "People. Assholes. Racists and homophobes mostly. Being a black lesbian doesn't exactly win you favors in this country."

  "And you want to be nicer to these people? Seems like you've got the right idea."

  "You're right. You are. I guess maybe just the constant nature of fighting back, the hate, the negativity - it's wearing at me, I think."

  Kara bit her lip. She looked like she was trying to find the right words. Veronika waited quietly. Kara wanted to stop driving and pull over so she could hug her. Veronika looked as tired as she said; a far cry from that effortlessly beautiful girl she'd met at the party the other week. She was still beautiful - but possessed by a certain kind of weariness, like the last vestiges of hope were fading from her eyes.

  "Maybe it's time to stop fighting for a while," Kara said in a calm deliberate voice.

  Veronika bristled at that. "Excuse me? I don't think the whole world is gonna stop and let me take a break, Kara."

  "Pipe down and listen for a sec, will ya?" Kara said. "I'm not suggesting you lay down your arms and surrender. Take a break, don't burn yourself out. The world is shit and we can all do our part to try and fix it, and it's always great to fight back against those who'd oppress you, but damn … we also gotta take care of ourselves. You have to take care of yourself. There's no crime in stopping for a second to make sure you're okay, mentally and physically. Your problems are still gonna be there when you get back."

  Veronika thought about that for a minute. She rubbed the tattoo of her familiar, as if reaching out to the spirit for confirmation or comfort. She groaned and leaned back in her seat.

  "When did you get so smart, huh?" she said.

  Kara shrugged. "I've always been smart. People don't like to listen to the fat girl."

  "That's not -" Veronika started, then clamped her mouth shut. "Why are we so weird?"

  "Huh?"

  "Us. This thing we've got. What the hell is it?"

  Kara sighed. "We're weird. That party … and everything that happened after. I feel like I was able to form a connection with you, and that doesn't happen often."

  Veronika turned her head away. "And then I left …"

  "Yeah. You did," Kara said in a resigned voice.

  Veronika folded her arms over her chest. She didn't know how to respond to that. "I feel like I screwed things up for us," she said. "Think we could have been great."

  "So you're giving up already?" Kara scoffed. "If that's so, we haven't got a chance."

  "I do want this, you know. Us. I want this to be a thing and for it to work out."

  "Then what's stopping you?" Kara yelled, then lowered her voice. "I'm sorry. I don't deal well with emotional drama."

  "I don't think anyone does," Veronika said wryly. "I like you, Kara. I think part of me even fell in love with you, as juvenile as that sounds. At the same time, I meant what I said when I left. There's shit I've done, shit I'm willing to do to get answers and punish the assholes who hurt me. I murdered my mother when I found out."

  "Join the fucking club!" Kara shouted. She slammed her hand against the steering wheel. "Eileen came back, didn't you hear? She possessed my Dad and I had to slam their head into the kitchen counter and set the trailer on fire to get rid of her. I got to kill two parents for the price of one."

  "I know!" Veronika yelled. She flattened her palms against the air and took a deep breath, before repeating herself. "I know. I'm sorry. But there's kind of a difference between what was clearly self-defense and what I did."

  Kara took a deep breath. She had this wide nervous look on her face. Veronika was almost relieved. There's something freeing about seeing all your worst fears realized. It turns you into a mad animal ready to take the plunge and make the worst possible thing happen. Self-destruction is a hell of a drug.

  "What happened then?" Kara said in a quiet voice. "Tell me."

  Veronika shrugged and leaned close to Kara, a vindictive smile creeping across her face.

  "How long does it take someone to starve to death?" Veronika said. "She might still be alive."

  "Holy shit …" Kara murmured. "Where did you leave her?"

  "In her bed. The venom ensured that. She'll never move again."

  "Christ," Kara whispered, then shook her head. "I guess snakes are a theme for you. That's fucked up, V. But I really don't feel like I'm in a position to judge. Our mothers did unthinkable things to us as kids. I can't say I didn't enjoy bashing Eileen's face in either."

  "I told you that I tortured my own mother and left her to die, and enjoyed it!" Veronika huffed. "I was expecting a bigger reaction."

  "All right, edge-lord!" Kara snapped. "Join the matricide club. I'm sad for you, though. I never got to know Eileen that well. The first real conversation I ever had with her and she was trying to fucking kill me. But you knew your mother, you had a relationship with her."

  Veronika slumped back in her seat. Her eyes were red and itching and she was screaming at herself to not cry. Anything but that. She wouldn't cry in front of her. It'd be humiliating.

  "I think in some fucked up way she loved me," Veronika said, the words betraying her even as they slipped like drops of acid from her tongue. Her face contorted into an awful, pained expression. Tears fell, and they burned. She squinted her eyes shut so she wouldn't have to look at Kara's pitying face.

  "What she did to you …" Kara said after a soft moment. "What she, and all our moms did to us … it was fucked up. It's possible they did love us. Possible they loved us a lot. But you know what?"

  Veronika stared. Kara sighed. They were coming up on the gated community now - a large white wall and series of hedges long in need of maintenance leading to a tall, imposing gate
. Kara stopped the car at the bottom of the hill. She turned to Veronika and gripped her shoulder tightly. She fixed her with an intense stare.

  "Listen. People who love you are every bit as capable of inflicting horror upon you as anyone else. They can damage you in irreparable ways. Maybe killing her wasn't the best thing, I don't fucking know. I do know this - you've every right to hate her for what she did."

  Veronika stared. She wanted to nod or do anything besides staring with that dumb open-mouthed expression. Maybe Kara was right, or maybe it was all still wrong. Pretty words and platitudes are a small comfort and do little to mend the soul.

  "We're here," Veronika said.

  Veronika reached into her purse and grabbed a Kleenex. She was glad she hadn't worn much in the way of makeup, it'd be all smearing down her face right about now. Veronika wiped her eyes. She still looked like shit from crying. Kara gave her an awkward, pitying stare earning. Veronika gave her a venomous glare in response. Veronika hated being pitied.

  Kara hated watching her cry. Not that Kara had anything against the shedding of tears, but watching someone break down terrified her. Veronika was always so well put together, the last person she'd expect to see cracking under pressure. Seeing someone else fall apart always made her feel like she was going to be next.

  They'd arrived at Yellow Coasts, the little gated community pictured on the brochure Veronika held in her quivering hands. It looked a far cry from the happy nuclear family destination promised. Big surprise. The gate was rusting and the hedges and lawns were all overgrown. Several homes had been vandalized - broken windows and graffiti, beer bottles all over the front lawns. If Kerryville was a dying community, Yellow Coasts was the cancerous growth responsible for that death - a festering corruption choking everything around it.

  The shiny black car was waiting for them outside the gate. The door opened, and he stepped out: a thin man who walked with a sleek black cane and wore a pin-striped suit. His yellow tie gave something inexplicably ghoulish to his countenance. There was something Kara felt she ought to remember, a forbidden memory lurking in veiled shadows and hideous whispers; and behind it all that hideous color yellow.

  The man in the yellow tie greeted them as they approached. "Welcome to the failed experiment," he said, his eyes twinkling as he led them through the rusted gate. "Not a complete failure, of course. We learned what we needed and materials never go to waste - something those cretins at Syracuse could learn a thing or two about."

  Kara stopped him. "Why the hell are we here?" she asked.

  He twirled his cane and gestured it in front of him down the street between the dilapidated homes. The house at the end overlooked the cliffs out towards the sea.

  Kara's brow furrowed as that eerie familiarity rose once more within her.

  "You remember the place?" the man said to her. "Your mother lived here with you briefly when you were a babe, before that ugly incident at Blackerly House in Wakefield. We had a few pleasant talks before she stepped too far out of line."

  "What was your relationship with my mother?" Kara asked, her voice shaking.

  "Call me Mr. Sharp. I was her contact for the syndicate."

  Mr. Sharp led them past a procession of houses. He whistled slowly as they walked. The melody caused the hair on Kara's arms to stand on end.

  Veronika hung close beside her. "Are you all right?" she asked.

  Kara shoved her hands into her pockets and shrugged. It was the only response she could think of. She didn't like lying.

  "What happened here?" Kara asked.

  "Prying for information?" Mr. Sharp sneered. He then shrugged and went on. "There's no harm, so I don't see why I shouldn't indulge you. We closed up shop after an incident with a competitor. The true version of this place was cast into the fragmented aether and all that's left is this derelict before you, a monument to our failure. Looks better in the brochure, doesn't it?"

  "O-kay," Kara groaned and rolled her eyes. "That sure clears things up."

  Mr. Sharp stopped directly in his tracks. He twirled around, causing the tails on his coat to flap around and slap him in the ankles. The sight managed to be somehow comical and yet unnerving. He had a look about him like he was trying to mimic human movements but hadn't quite mastered them yet.

  "That's right, you haven't spent long enough in Kerryville to spot it yet," he whispered, his eyes wide and curious. "But you have, Veronika. Surely you've begun to piece it together by now, the strange riddle of this place?"

  Kara turned to Veronika looking for an explanation. Veronika could only shrug. Kerryville was a weird city for certain, and there was definitely something darker lurking behind it all, but the same could be said for any other town on the island.

  "No?" Mr. Sharp asked, raising an eyebrow, then tutted under his breath. "Disappointing, Ms. Veronika."

  Veronika gripped her forearm, her fingers covering the snake tattoo. Kara had noticed it as something Veronika did whenever she was deep in thought or frightened. This time it looked like both.

  "What is it?" Kara asked.

  "Well, there's the usual vague-cryptic nonsense you get whenever you start asking questions around here," Veronika said. "But the odd shit is, and this is gonna sound stupid, I've met multiple people who for lack of a better word, appear to have an … 'other'."

  Mr. Sharp's eyes lit up. He began whistling again as he walked, turning away from them and spinning his cane merrily.

  Veronika continued. "People usually have multiple facets to themselves, but deep down you know even when someone is acting completely erratic or contrary to how you expect, they're still them. It's that innate familiarity, I guess, or maybe there's some human instinct that helps us tell each other apart. The people around here don't have that. I've run into multiple people that I've seen before, and sometimes … it's like looking at complete strangers. I swear sometimes even the buildings look wrong. Like, I'll be looking down the road and I'll blink and it's like I'm staring at a wholly different city.

  "And all these things they stack, you know? I put it off at first, chalking it up to either stress or your run-of-the-mill Harbinger Island weirdness, but it's happened enough that I've started questioning whether or not something else is wrong with this place."

  "The fragmented aether …" Mr. Sharp said again, this time in a hollow faraway voice, as if he wasn't even speaking to them directly. He turned to face them. "We're here."

  Kara looked at the house before them. Like all the other yards around her, this one was long overgrown and unkempt. An abandoned tricycle lay in the center of the walkway from the street to the door. Her fingers twitched. She could count the steps to the door.

  "None of this feels real," she whispered softly.

  Mr. Sharp moved forwards, kicking the rusted tricycle violently aside. He tucked his cane beneath his arm and threw open the door. Blackness greeted them from a darkened hall.

  "Reality can be so fragile. I never trust it," he said giving a little flourish with his hand before gesturing inside. "Shall we go on?"

  Yellow wallpaper, Kara thought as she followed Mr. Sharp through the door. Who decides on yellow wallpaper? It's gross and leaves a sickening green after-image when you close your eyes.

  The house definitely had that feeling of not been lived in for some time. The wallpaper had begun to peel in some corners, and there were places where the carpet had warped away from the wall. There was a nose-wrinkling medley of foul odors all scarcely disguised beneath the heavy stench of mothballs.

  Kara turned a few feet to see the dining room past the arched hallway. The floor was covered in years of dust and the linoleum was pulled up and scattered, revealing the moldy floorboards beneath. The table was still set for a family of five. Dinner hadn't been touched. It sat there, a rotten mess being devoured by a swarm of cockroaches.

  Kara turned her head away and covered her mouth and nose. Mr. Sharp laughed. He looked to be enjoying her discomfort. Veronika placed a steady hand on her shoulder, but kep
t her face buried in Kara's neck.

  "Let me guess, cast into the aether?" Kara snorted.

  Mr. Sharp's eyes brightened. "You're catching on. As such though, the particular placement of this community gives those of us who can traverse the cast-out fragments an ability to look back and reflect upon our past selves."

  "Enough with the nonsense please," Kara groaned. "Tell us what we're doing here."

  "It wouldn't be enough for me to merely tell you about your mother's time with us, Kara-bear," Mr. Sharp said, then gave a little giggle. "You wouldn't believe me. I upset and disgust you too much. Something about the milky-whiteness of my skin, like a maggot's flesh, and the way I prance about disturbs you, doesn't it? We do try and act accommodating towards you humans but you'll never not be frightened of us, I think. It's in your nature to cower in terror at our countenance, and that you should. No, the only way to present the truth is to show it."

  With that, he led them into the living room and did a little twirl. He tapped his cane harshly against the floor. Kara and Veronika gave each other uneasy looks while he danced around like a drunken circus ringleader. They were prepared to bolt at any second.

  "Yes," he said, giving an excited shudder, "I remember now. Kara, you were there being baby-sat by the television screen. Oh, you were so little and your mother and I were watching you by the bookshelf while I judged her for her poor taste in literature. And well … here!"

  He swished his cane like a magician flicking his wand. Translucent, ghost-like images appeared in the room. Kara staggered backwards. One of them was Mr. Sharp looking the same: sprightly and decrepit and utterly ageless. The other was yet even more frightening - the glowering, passionate visage of her mother, Eileen. Mr. Sharp noted Kara's reaction with glee.

  "Don't worry," he said. "'Tis but a memory. It can't hurt you … at least, no more than memories usually can."

  The projection of Eileen was picking up toys off the floor, invisible objects that couldn't be seen from Kara's perspective. Only the people carried through in this projection of memory. The images faded and distorted at times, like a bad signal on a television set.